How I got
here doesn’t matter, even though he says it does. Says it was my choice. He
doesn’t get it, though. It wasn’t ever a choice for me.

And now,
he’s changing the rules.

The
agreement was one month. For thirty days, I’d be his. He’s no longer satisfied
with my body alone, though. He wants my soul, too. Wants every part of me. And
even though I can pretend I’m safe when I lie beneath him, this man does
something to me. Something wicked.

A thing
that will break me.

Killian

People suck
at consequences.

Cilla made
the choice. She offered the deal. I just took her up on it. So what if I
changed the rules half-way in? I’m not apologizing for it.

He’s watching me.
I know he is. He has cameras everywhere. Why wouldn’t he have one here? In
this, the “special” room? He told me he likes to keep an eye on his things. And
that’s what I am. A thing. A possession.

His.

Fucking his.

And today I
fucked up.

Today he’ll take
it out of my skin.

I shudder with
the thought. With the knowledge of what I know is coming.

I’ll fight him. I
wonder if he expects me to. Wants me to, even. All I know is I can’t submit to
him. I can’t let him break me.

But I am
breaking. Little by little.

I wonder if
that’s why he took me.

This is a game to
him. My life is a game.

I hug my knees to
myself. This room is so cold, unlike the others.

I pull the
blanket up around me, as much for the cold as for protection. It’s not like I
can hide my fear. He knows. He knows the real truth. Knows everything now.

My dress is torn
and I’m barefoot. He took my shoes away when he put me here. I guess the heels
could be used as a weapon. As if I could somehow manage to overpower him.

I try to swallow
but the lump in my throat makes it impossible. I’m scared and I hate it. I
don’t want to admit it. Not even to myself.

Tears wet my eyes
but before they have a chance to fall, I cover them with my hands and rub them
away. I don’t want him to see my weakness. He gets off on it.

I did this. I
pushed him. And I can survive this. I fucking have to.

It’s when I’m
giving myself that ridiculous pep talk that I hear his footfalls in the
hallway. Hear his voice, muffled so I can’t make out what he says. Probably
dismissing Hugo, his fucking henchman. Like he needs one.

Every hair on my
body stands on end when he slides the key into the lock. When he turns it. And
when he pushes the door open, it takes all I have not to crumple. Not to cave.

It takes all I
have to stand and ready myself for battle against this beast of a man.

Prologue 2

Kill

She claims I took
her, but that’s not the whole truth.

I gave her a
choice. She made it.

Someone needed to
be punished. It didn’t need to be her. She chose this. Chose to be here.

Well, okay, not
right here. Not like this. Standing against the far wall, her pretty, jade eyes
wide with fear, the delicate skin around them pink from tears.

She’s scared.

And she should
be.

She knows what’s
coming.

I warned her and
she fucked up.

I take her in,
pretty in pink. Pretty Priscilla. Even with her hair a mess. Her mascara a
black smear across her face. Her dress ruined. She’s scared shitless, but she’s
defiant. I like that about her. Like her fire.

It makes my dick
hard.

I close the door
but don’t bother locking it. No need. She’s not walking out of here tonight.
I’ll be carrying her when I’m through.

When I take a
step, she makes a sound, something like a frightened little rabbit would make
if they could make sound. Her hands are flat against the wall behind her. It’s
like she’s trying to melt into it.

“I guess we were
always going to end up here,” I say.

She has no
response apart from the sudden trembling of her body. She wraps her arms around
herself. I can even hear her teeth chatter. She’s too proud to beg though. Beg
me for mercy. I respect her for that. But I do like the idea of her on her
knees at my feet, clinging to me, pleading with me to spare her this one
thing.

I slide off my
suit jacket and hang it over the back of the chair. I watch her reflection in
the mirror as I take off one cuff link, then the other, and set them both on
the table. I’m rolling up my sleeves when I return my attention to her. Her
eyes slide to my forearms. My hands.

“I know, Cilla,”
I say.

She looks up at
me.

“I know
everything.”

Author Bio

USA Today
bestselling author of contemporary romance, Natasha Knight specializes in dark,
tortured heroes. Happily-Ever-Afters are guaranteed, but she likes to put her
characters through hell to get them there. She’s evil like that.